


In His Glow

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: "A Lucky Fall" AU of the Desperate Hours AU (D) [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Big Brothers, Boromir Lives, Brothers, F/M, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Little Brothers, Protectiveness, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:38:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brothers, fathers, and sons, in the wake of the Ring War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: This story was written in response to a prompt from Karen, who asked for a story in the Lucky Fall AU where: The brothers go on an adventure without Aragorn knowing, and they somehow get stuck or trapped in an isolated place. While they are waiting to be found, they have a good chance to have a real talk about Denethor, and the different ways they were treated. Hope that you like it, Karen! 
> 
> A/N: Set in the early autumn of 3019, approximately six months after the end of the Ring War and approximately five months after Aragorn learned that Faramir was his son. 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “Being his real brother I could feel I live in his shadows, but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow.”  
> ― Michael Morpurgo

The first stirring strains of the Sarsanelle, a waltz from ancient Numenor, rung from the rafters of Merethrond, the great Hall of Feasts at the heart of the Citadel in Minas Tirith. Faramir felt an answering lift of his heart. Gracefully relinquishing his current partner to her grown son, Faramir surveyed the Hall for a new dancing partner. 

Arwen the Queen stood in a small knot of her ladies. Her ring finger moved in perfect time to the music, sapphire and diamond stones twinkling as they reflected the warm glow of the fire and the lanterns. 

Faramir hesitated a moment. He still felt somewhat awkward around the beautiful lady who was his true-father Aragorn's bride. He took a deep breath to bolster his courage, then he walked over and offered Arwen his arm. 

"Would you honor me with a dance, my Lady?" He asked. 

Almost before he'd even gotten all the words out, Arwen acquiesced, her gray eyes shining. 

"Thank you, Faramir." She said, with a light squeeze to his shoulder as he whirled her onto the dance floor. "I have always loved this song, and my husband," Arwen nodded with a fond smile towards Aragorn sharing a drink with Legolas and Gimli in a quiet corner, "is otherwise occupied."

Faramir chuckled as he twirled the Queen. She was as graceful as a professional dancer, but stronger, somehow. Or perhaps, just more eloquently herself, bringing her own charm and style to any endeavor, even a mere waltz. 

He very much liked her, and admired her, and not just for her fierce kindness in the wake of recent discoveries. She had also brought the best of old Arnor back with her to Gondor. Arwen had been a lady-in-waiting at Annuminas, not a Steward, but she was a very clever and perceptive being with an excellent memory. Her brothers had all been knights of Arnor, and she was a resource not only for purposes of long-lost decor and culture, but for political and legal history as well. 

The Queen's elegant hand tensed slightly within Faramir's careful clasp. He tilted his head in question. Arwen's eyes sparkled with mischief, and then she flexed her fingers slightly, signaling a turn to the left. It was a variation of the dance which Faramir had never learned, but he was a quick study. And he was not too proud to follow Arwen's lead. In fact, he did so cheerfully, with an impish smile of his own. 

At a faster pace than the traditional waltz Faramir had learned, they began to whirl around the outside of the dance floor. Arwen's light grip on his hand communicated that he twirl her more often the song normally called for, and even that they separate to take a few quick steps before coming back together again. Faramir realized that they were in fact moving in sync to the staccato offbeats of the soaring music, rather than to the more melodic main theme. The off-beat actually reminded Faramir of another traditional dance, this one dating all the way back to the Houses of the Edain in the First Age, before the War of Wrath. It was a challenging piece, requiring a perfectly synchronized partnership, two dancers who knew one another's strengths and weaknesses. 

Faramir and Arwen might not be able to pull it off, or at least not well. But what did it really matter? In Minas Tirith after the end of the war, there predominated a mood of joy and relief that was more than strong enough to withstand the Queen of Gondor and the King's base-born son tripping over one another's feet in the Great Hall of Feasts.

So, with an infinitesimal nod and another smile, Faramir indicated that he was game. Arwen grinned in reply, an urchin's smile more than a Queen's. Almost as one, they lifted their hands to touch, palm to palm, and then pushed away from one another, whirling and stepping in time. They came together again a mere half minute later, clasping one another's wrists and using their weight to counterbalance and anchor another turn and twirl. 

Faramir kept his strength carefully measured, but Arwen more than matched him. She had been a warrior for many centuries before hanging up her sword, which was not as hard to remember as it might be when she wore skirts and jewels and velvets. She was a different kind of warrior now, but Arwen was quite possibly the most successful out of any of the King's men at accomplishing the objectives he'd asked her to secure, or those she felt were important. Faramir privately thought of her as "Arwen Indomitable," rather than merely as Arwen Undomiel. He wondered if Luthien had been as beautiful, wonderful, and terrifying all at once as he found Arwen. And if so, Faramir could completely understand why the Valar might have given her everything she asked for, and why she had in her own inimitable way defeated all of her enemies. 

His own mother, Finduilas, had possessed a delicate, cheerful refusal to accept that anything was impossible. And she had taught Faramir many dances, including, in fact, a variant of this one. But he had only been five years old when she had died. To his five year old self, she had been near perfect. Frozen in time, she had remained so. At least until just after the war, when he learned that she had taken Lord Aragorn's free will and tricked him into leaving her a child without even knowing that he had done so.* However high her motives, and however convincingly her father-by-law the old Steward Ecthelion had compelled her to do so, it was a terrible, unpardonable betrayal of noble Aragorn, who was all things good - a quiet leader who had waited so patiently and devotedly to receive the blessing of his Lady's father. Faramir's very existence was a grave offense against the Lady Arwen, who had waited thousands of years to meet her love, and supported him through one of the most stringent fates that had ever been imposed upon a man. 

Thinking of that made Faramir look away from Arwen's eyes, and falter. 

*It is no matter, dear Faramir.* Her smooth, cool nightingale voice murmured in the quiet of his mind. 

He looked up at her, feeling startled and worried, and even a bit betrayed. 

"You dance fair wonderful." Arwen assured him aloud, "I am quite enjoying myself- do not get caught up in one mistake." 

'Ah.' Faramir thought to himself in relief, for the Lady was merely reassuring him about an error in the dance, and not...the other much more complicated and private matter, and his personal thoughts concerning it. 

"Wise counsel, dear Lady." He said, and re-dedicated himself to the breathless joy of dancing with a truly gifted partner. 

Palm to palm again, but just his right hand to her left. Just for a moment, then a whirl and a quick five steps in a complicated pattern, hers mincing and his fierce. Then together again, one palm touching as they paced one another in a circle. Pushing off again to dance away, then together, pivoting only half apart as palm-to-palm turned to her hand in his. Between one beat of the drum and another he knelt down on one knee, so that her delicate velvet-covered beaded slipper could step lightly up on to his other knee, and then down again, twirling again and again in a circle around him as he rose to his feet.

Meeting palms together, then whirling apart again. A fast series of steps paralleling one another, down the length of the Great Hall. At first, they nimbly added twirls to stay out of the way of other dancers. Faramir was barely aware of the dance floor clearing around them as they came together again, just long enough for Faramir to lift Arwen gracefully off of her feet and set her back down. The lead changed back and forth between them now, as they repeated a modified version of the first part of the dance. As the musicians signaled the final measures, Faramir and Arwen came back together once again, standing face to face, palms to palms. When the music ended, they were both flushed and breathless, and smiling with joy. 

"Thank you." Arwen said, her eyes laughing. "That was wonderful. You are nearly as strong a dancer as my brother Belemir." 

When Faramir blushed, she continued, "Aragorn is my favorite partner, but he is more apt to make up his own steps than stretch what can be done within the traditional structure of a song. Elrohir always has to lead, and Elladan does not pay careful enough attention." 

Faramir laughed lightly, because he could entirely see that, based on his acquaintance with all three gentlemen. Then he offered the Queen his arm again, to lead her back to her companions. As they began walking, Faramir realized that he and Arwen had become the center of attention. 

It seemed as if all eyes were upon them. Faramir saw smiles, mostly genuine, and there was even applause, much the same. In Aragorn's eyes, Faramir could see a complex mixture of emotions - pride and affection, as if in seeing them together his heart was made whole. Faramir ducked his head. Normally,he did not approve of looking away - but he did not know quite what to make of that affection. On the one hand, it was as if he could have everything he'd ever imagined wanting in a father, and more, all he had to do was reach out and accept it. 

On the other hand....well, there was Boromir. There was the past, good and bad, and all of the decisions which had made Faramir who he was. A man who stood on his own, with only his brother and his friends by his side. And one who had as much of a responsibility to those companions as they did to him. Faramir could not imagine relying on a father. And what if he were to make some mistake, and Aragorn were to withdraw that affection from him in penalty? To have it, and loose it, would be far worse than never to have had it at all. Faramir knew that, in part because he had watched it happen to Boromir. 

Thinking of Boromir, where was he? Faramir made polite excuses to his father the King and to Arwen his Queen, and then went to find his brother. Arwen and Aragorn had decided to host a ball to celebrate the arrival of a delegation from Eriador on this crisp autumn sixth night, but it was also the anniversary of the old Steward Denethor's birth. The first, since Denethor's passing. He had met his end on a pyre built for Faramir. It was a death which Faramir might have been able to prevent, had he tried harder. Or at least, so Faramir thought, in his darker hours. 

Normally, of a sixth night where there was dancing in the Great Hall, Boromir could be found nowhere else. He would most often excuse himself for a time to say good night to his baby heir and eight year old step-son. Then he would return straight away to the revelry, usually with his beautiful bride on his arm. Or, if Nessanie was tired but had insisted that her husband continue to enjoy the night without her, Boromir could be found drinking or dancing the men's dances with his friends. Or Faramir might find him dancing with Arwen, or his friends' wives, such as Ynithe, the wife of Boromir's bosom companion Gendarion of the Ringlo Vale. Gendarion was not much for dancing, yet Ynithe loved it as did Boromir, and the two would often make an evening of it after their spouses had gone to bed. Ynithe's demeanor and reputation for propriety was such that only the most tiresome of Gondor's old gossips had been heard to complain. 

But sometimes, even on nights of celebratory dancing such as this, Boromir would retire with Nessanie, and spend the night in her arms. He might very well have done so, on this the first anniversary of Denethor's birth since his father had died. But, if Boromir was not with Nessanie, he might have gone a-wandering. Drinking in the lower levels of the city, perhaps. If Boromir had gone there, it was most likely he'd gone with Gendarion, or at the least with one or more of his friends amongst the knights. But if all of that group were accounted for, then Boromir was either with Nessanie, or off wandering by himself. Perhaps along the upper walls of the Citadel, where Lord Denethor had been wont to take his son, to look over the city that Denethor ruled. This ancient city, which Denthor had always that his son would rule someday, after his death. 

If that was the case, then Boromir should not be alone. And if he were off drinking in the city, it would still be best for Faramir to go and offer his brother his company. 

Faramir's first stop was the Steward's quarters. Faramir did not need to knock, for he still had a key. He normally would have knocked, for politeness' sake, but he didn't want to wake his baby nephew Baranor. 

From the entry way, Faramir followed the quiet strains of a lullaby to the bedchamber of Tavan, Nessanie's son from her first marriage. Tavan was fast asleep, his mother's right hand carding lightly through his dark curls. In her left arm, Nessanie held six month old Baranor, Boromir's son and heir. She was the picture of contentment, save that it was going to be a challenge for her to stand up. 

"Help." Nessa whispered with a smile, as she finished the lullaby. 

Suppressing a laugh, Faramir gently lifted his baby nephew. Baranor made a soft snuffling sound as Faramir cradled him against his shoulder, the way that he knew the baby liked to be supported. His small nephew smelled of milk, honey lotion, Nessanie's perfume, and some smell uniquely his own. At half a year of age, Baranor still had his mother's calm temperament and dark hair, although his facial features and roaring cry were Boromir in miniature. 

Some of the baby's calm might be having a responsible big brother in Tavan. Faramir watched fondly as Nessanie kissed her eight year old son's forehead. With a grateful smile, she led the way to the nursery, her bare feet noiseless on the colorful carpets. 

Faramir laid Baranor carefully down in the crib, hardly daring breathe lest the baby awaken. Although normally a good sleeper, Baranor had been teething and temperamental of late. 

Baranor's eyelids did not even flutter. Beside Faramir, Nessanie sighed with relief. She covered Baranor with a light blanket, then gestured for Faramir to follow her to the main living area. 

Nessanie had entirely redecorated the Steward's apartments. All of the rooms looked very different from the military-themed decor which had been so favored by Lord Denethor. The sitting room was now dominated by soothing earth tones, with beautiful landscapes and elegant tapestries decorating the walls. It was a welcoming space which reflected Nessanie's taste more than Boromir's, but that was fine. Faramir's brother seemed happy to indulge his wife, and he had numerous hunting trophies and famed weapons mounted in his study. If that masculine refuge weren't so messy - reflecting Boromir's policy of leaving scrolls and books in haphazard piles in the hope that if he ignored them they would become irrelevant - the study would remind Faramir of Denethor's tenure. But the old Steward would have died before importing a second desk and even sometimes a laundry hamper - or three - to hold surplus administrative correspondence.

"Are you letting my brother sleep, or is he out a-wandering?" Faramir asked his sister-in-law. 

"The latter." Nessanie replied with a tired smile. "Lindis tried to find him for me, but after she reported he wasn't at the ball with you, I sent her to bed." 

Faramir frowned. "It is Denethor's birthday, today." 

Nessanie nodded gravely. "I know. My dear husband has been in a poor mood all day, though he did his best to hide it. I think Tavan must have realized, at least on a subconscious level. He woke just an hour ago from a nightmare that Boromir had died during the Quest." Nessanie shivered. 

Suspecting that the cold was more born of dread than temperature, Faramir nonetheless offered his sister-in-law a blanket from the back of a settee. Yet it was his promise to locate Boromir, and to send her word of their whereabouts, which seemed to warm her more. 

Faramir's search next led him to a heavily trafficked hall near the outer wall of the citadel, where his childhood friend and former lieutenant, Dervorin, occupied an off-duty Captain's suite. Faramir did not expect to find Boromir there, but Dervorin could be relied upon to know where almost anyone was at any time. If Boromir was out on the town drinking his worries away, then it was mostly likely he was accompanied by Dervorin's cousin, Gendarion. And if Gendarion was otherwise accounted for, then Faramir could rely on Dervorin to accompany him on his continuing search. Or, at the very least, Faramir could leave word with Dervorin of where he was planning to look, and count on his friend to raise a search party if Faramir didn't return or send word. 

An almost imperceptible scuffing sound brought Faramir to a halt about fifty paces before Dervorin's door. His eyes flew to the concealed exit from his friend's chambers. Faramir took a step back, his hand hovering near a dagger, despite the likelihood that whoever approached was friend rather than foe.

The quiet "shhh" of stone against stone as the passage opened could barely be heard, even in the still and empty hallway. It was a hallmark of Numenorean and elven craftmanship, carefully maintained by the heirs of Anarion and then the Stewards of Gondor. 

The very tips of a lady's shoes could be seen at the base of the tapestry covering the entrance. Faramir hid a chuckle as he recognized the shoes, which had stepped on his feet just a few hours earlier that evening. 

"Be at ease, Lady Sayril." Faramir called out kindly. 

The tapestry moved aside, revealing a plump, dark-haired woman. Her gray-blue eyes still held the pain of someone who had seen too much, but the lines of strain on her face had eased, and a smile graced her angular features. Dervorin's current paramour seemed to be benefiting from their relationship, which did not surprise Faramir. But that the lady had felt it necessary to leave without her lover, did. 

"Lord Gendarion is visiting." Sayril explained in a rapid tumble of words, very unlike her normal shy, tired reticence. "He and Dev started arguing, and then Dev came to get a robe, and said that I should meet him for breakfast instead." 

"Ah." Said Faramir. He offered the lady his thanks, and escorted her to the hallway leading to her family's Citadel apartments. To any passer-by, it would appear merely as if the young Prince had met the lady on her way from Merethrond, and offered her his arm and company, as any gentleman might do. 

From there, Faramir walked swiftly to the King's House, where he was currently quartered. He greeted the guards at the entrance, then passed through the House to an unmanned kitchen exit. In the shadows of the King's Garden, Faramir broke into a careful jog. Boromir was not with Nessanie, and he was not with Gendarion. He was not on the wall of the Citadel. There was one other place where Boromir was known to go when he was upset. The deep pool created by an abandoned mining operation on the other side of Mount Mindolluin. Denethor had taught Boromir and Faramir to swim in its shallows, when they were small. As the brothers grew older, they had gone there to swim on hot summer nights, and even on cool fall and spring evenings. The water of the quarry was less buoyant then the ocean or the river. Swimming and diving through the quarry's clear and treacherously deep and uneven waters had helped the brothers to keep their aquatic skills near par to those of their shore-dwelling cousins in Dol Amroth. 

The most direct path to the quarry turned treacherous about five hundred yards before it ended on a cliff overlooking the pool. Small and large stones slid under Faramir's dress boots, even more so than usual. Faramir paused for a half a moment, remembering a meeting he had walked into a half hour late, the previous day. Gimli had been speaking about how the war damage had made some of the working quarries unstable and too dangerous to mine, and had been sternly warning against venturing into the area until his team cleared it, area by area. 

Faramir had been distracted at the time, by worry and then...confusion. Aragorn had noted Faramir's late entry. But instead of a complaint or a harsh glare, he had merely given Faramir a look as if to ask if everything all was well. Aragorn had just assumed that Faramir had a good reason for being late. The King had not even draw attention to Faramir's tardy arrival. It was the polar opposite of what would have happened, had it been Denethor leading that meeting, and it made Faramir grateful again that Aragorn was King, even if he was still feeling his way towards gratitude that the great man was also his father. 

The warning about the quarry's danger did not give Faramir much pause. Boromir might well already be there. Besides, the abandoned quarry had always been dangerous. Faramir knew the mountain well, and had traversed much more deadly places in his life. 

Faramir arrived at the cliff overlooking the the quarry just in time to see his naked, great golden bear of a brother dive into the dark, star-lit waters below. 

Faramir sighed. The water was going to be ice cold. It always was. A welcome relief, when the heat of heavy summer came. But now, on a cool fall night...well. There was nothing else for it. Faramir pulled off his velvet tunic and polished boots, and his stockings, then followed his brother off the cliff. 

As expected, the water was colder than a vampire's breath. To add to that fun, Boromir greeted Faramir by trying to drown him. Faramir did his best to return the favor. On land, Boromir was unbeatable. But in the water, Faramir was just a hair faster, just a hair more flexible. He still ended up half-drowned, but at least the fight was closer to even. 

"You should have invited me along." Faramir gasped, as the two of them tread water in the moonlight. 

Boromir glared at Faramir, who really did not deserve his anger. Then he glared at the moon. Faramir wasn't sure whether that particular celestial body deserved Boromir's anger, either. But the palantir had been round, like the moon. And the palantir, or Denethor's decision to turn to it, that deserved Boromir's anger. And even the fact that there was a whole hall of people, whom Denethor had led through one of the most dangerous times in history, laughing and dancing and forgetting that this had been their former Steward's birthday....well, that deserved a bit of anger, too, Faramir supposed. After all, Denethor hadn't tried to burn any of them. 

Boromir growled, and slapped the water. "No one even misses him!" 

They both knew that Boromir meant Denethor. And that Boromir did miss him, very much. 

Faramir was quiet for a moment, before answering, "He did not make himself popular, brother. But he was a good man, and a great Steward. People may not miss him; but all men of sense know that we owe him a debt of gratitude." Faramir paused, trying to think of something to say that would help his brother, something true. He would not lie to Boromir. 

"I cannot say that I miss him," Faramir said softly, "But I am sorry that he did not live. Because of his service, and even more, because he loved you dearly." 

Boromir laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that cut Faramir to the quick, because Boromir should never sound bitter, not like this. 

"I do not want for you to be sorry, Faramir." Boromir growled, "Father did not earn that. Not from you." Faramir's older brother glared at him again, but this time the edges of the anger were softened by love, and by some other emotion which Faramir could not recognize. "You're too perfect, at times, Fara." Boromir added gruffly. 

"I'm not." Faramir retorted incredulously, "I just...I'm angry. I'm angry with him, for how he treated me, and I'm...I'm angry with you, for letting it happen." Faramir gasped at the pain and power of saying those truths for the first time. In a rush, he continued, "Even though you didn't know, and couldn't have helped, even if you did. But I love you, and in a way, I loved him, too. We had good times, you know, he and I. There were times when he even respected me, Boromir, and...that was a hard thing to win, from him. It meant a lot to me." 

Boromir looked up at the sky, again. Almost as if it was too painful to meet his brother's eyes. "I didn't know that he was ordering such harsh punishments for you. I would have stopped it. One way or another, I would have stopped it, Fara. I swear." 

"'Tis a good thing that you didn't know, then." A moment of silence, and then Faramir heard his brother curse. Then he yelped himself as Boromir started to cuff him lightly about the head, but ended by just pushing his head under water again. 

Faramir broke the surface, gasping, and considering revenge. The serious look on his older brother's face forestalled those plans. 

"If you keep anything like that from me again, I'll have to stand in line to give you a thrashing." Boromir told him. "You need Aragorn looking out for you, and I'm glad for him." 

Faramir made a face. "You would be." 

"He loves you, little idiot." Boromir scolded. 

"I'm beginning to realize that." Faramir murmured. 

"If you're only just beginning, then maybe you're not the smart brother." Boromir pointed out, one gold eyebrow arching in the moonlight. 

"Why, thank you, brother." Faramir replied dryly. More honestly, and even a bit shaken, he confessed, "I rather lack the background." 

Boromir's face looked, for a moment, as if he'd been struck. Faramir searched for words to apologize, only to have his brother roughly wave them off. Instead, Boromir told him fiercely, "I'm sorry for that. And I'm still angry with you, as well. That you didn't say a cursed thing about how father and his staff were treating you, near the end." 

"Brom...." 

"No, listen, golden tongue." Boromir said, splashing Faramir to get his attention, his posture such that Faramir thought he would have had his arms crossed if he hadn't been treading water. "I couldn't take care of you, because you didn't let me know what was happening. As your brother, as your Captain-General, you should have told me. Keeping it to yourself was not your decision to make, Faramir. What's more, our mother made you promise you on her death bed that you would tell me if anyone hurt you. And did you?" 

"I.. well...sometimes." Faramir defended himself. 

"Not good enough." Scolded Boromir, pushing Faramir's head under water again. 

Faramir did his best to return the favor. Failing, he spluttered in objection, "A child could keep that promise, Boromir, but..."

With a rude noise, Boromir interrupted, "Yes, easy enough that a child could, but not you, not even then, or have you forgotten?" 

Faramir felt his face heating at the truth in that. Then the memory of being dangled off of a high wall of the citadel by a sadistic armsmaster momentarily reasserted itself. "I'm lucky that I still like heights." Faramir murmured. 

"What?" Snapped Boromir, at the non-sequitur. 

"Nothing." Said Faramir firmly, before continuing, aggrieved, "In any case, no I didn't always, but I didn't... Well, I may not be the great golden Boromir, but even I have my pride, brother! And a man could not keep that promise!" 

"You can never do as you are told!" Boromir complained. 

"That is a gross exaggeration." Replied Faramir primly. 

"Ha!" Retorted Boromir, a smile on his face now, even if it was a frustrated one, "Sophistry," he scolded Faramir, "and...." Boromir trailed off, evidently realizing that he had lost his brother's attention. 

Faramir's eyes were fixed upon what looked like a white dress, floating in the water. "Boromir, is that..." He began, before cutting himself off and swimming strongly in the direction of what he was afraid might be a woman in trouble. Through the water, he could hear his brother curse at him, and complain that if it was a woman, she was dead, and there was nothing to be done, and the cliffs in that direction were unstable, and....

"Curse it all, Faramir!" 

Faramir could hear his brother swimming after him, but Faramir was the faster swimmer, and had a head start, besides. 

As he approached the soaked garment, Faramir could tell that it was being worn not by a woman, but by a collection of debris - floating sticks and leaves which had gotten stuck inside. 

Boromir grabbed his arm. "Did you not listen to me? Were you daydreaming through your training and duties as a sailor in Dol Amroth?" 

"I'm sorry, I thought...." 

"Faramir," Boromir lectured, "Did you never bring a lady here? Often, in a location such as this, clothing can be discarded with no tragedy or danger involved!" 

"No, I..." Faramir's reply was cut off by an ominous rumbling from above. A part of the stone cliff above their head sheered off, and fell. Boromir's arm yanked Faramir closer towards the cliffs, towards a dark hole in the white wall. The wave and debris from the falling rocks washed them further inside, pulling them both under the water. Faramir came to the surface first, frantically searching for his brother. There was almost no light, the rocks having sealed most of the entrance. 

A gasp of pain by the near wall filled Faramir with relief. He swam to his brother, lifting Boromir up until the larger man cried out in pain again. 

"My ankle, Fara, it's caught." Boromir wheezed, "A wire, or a cable..." 

Faramir winced and nodded. Debris from the mining operation littered the tunnels and the bottom of the quarry pool. It was one of the many things that made the location dangerous. 

"Can you hold yourself up?" Faramir asked. 

Boromir nodded. "Do it." He commanded. 

Faramir took a deep breath and pulled himself under the water, following his brother's leg down to the tight, thick cable cutting into Boromir's ankle, holding it fast. Rocks had shifted around his brother's feet, and it would be possible to release Boromir without something to cut the twisted metal. Faramir squeezed his brother's calve, then pulled himself up above the water, taking half of Boromir's weight and treading water for his brother. Although Boromir's ankle was stuck in the wall, the water was deep and the angle poor. 

"Well?" 

Faramir shook his head. "The wire is too thick. We'll have to wait for help." 

Boromir groaned at the thought of that. 

Faramir acknowledged that with a quick, rueful grin. Then worry reasserted itself. "I'm not sure how long that is going to take."  
"Surely you told your evil shadow about your nighttime walk-about?" Said Boromir, his broad arm tight around Faramir's shoulders, "If you don't turn up, he'll kick his current light o' love out of bed in less than an hour or so, I wager, and come looking for us then." 

"She isn't..." Faramir started to defend his friend. Deciding that it wasn't worth trying to explain Dervorin's love life again, he cut himself off. "In any case, I didn't tell Dev. I was going to, but then Gendarion was visiting, and I didn't want to disturb them...." 

"So, you came down here knowing that it was unsafe, without telling anyone where you were going? Idiot." Boromir criticized.  
Faramir narrowed his eyes. "You don't even see how much of a hypocrite you are, at times, do you?" He asked his brother. When no reply was forthcoming, Faramir sighed. "This is going to be a very stupid way to die." 

"We aren't going to die, idiot." Boromir said dismissively, "You came looking for me, didn't you? Someone else will, too." Then it was Boromir's turn to sigh, as he related, "Father would have killed us." 

Quiet reigned for a moment, except for the slap of water against rock. 

"Yes." Faramir agreed, not sure what else to say. 

"I have him within me." Boromir confessed, pained. 

"That is not...entirely a bad thing, Boromir." Faramir said, and if anyone was qualified to say that, if anyone had the right, it was Faramir. Denethor's criticisms had sunk into Faramir's bones in a way that it was hard to explain to Boromir, who, to the best of Faramir's knowledge, had never doubted himself before leaving on the Quest. That Boromir had survived the breaking of his preconceptions and come out of it a better man was...admirable. More than. It made him a better man than his father had been, but there had been many good things about Denethor. His courage, his perseverance, his ability to look at almost anyone except Faramir fairly. His support of his soldiers, and his determination to help them better themselves. Boromir was like Denethor, yes, but...

"You are kinder,and more aware." Faramir added, tightening his hand under Boromir's far arm. 

A pained sigh from Boromir. "You have your father in you, too, Faramir. The better man, a better man than my father." 

Faramir could barely see his brother's face in the pale light of moonlight and starlight slipping in through the cracks of the rocks. He silently cursed the poor light, because if there was ever a time when he wanted to be sure to look into his brother's eyes and accurately judge what Boromir was feeling, that moment was now. Failing that, Faramir went with another truth. 

"We are what we choose, Boromir. Denethor was, and we are as well." 

"You would be the better Steward, Faramir." 

Faramir bit back an instant rejoinder, realizing that there was more his brother wasn't saying. Yes, Boromir often wore his emotions on his sleeve, but sometimes he didn't. Not if it was something that he thought would upset Faramir, or that he was ashamed to share. What he was saying now...sounded almost like jealousy. What in the name of all the Valar could Faramir have, or be, that would justify his older brother being jealous of him? A better facility with administrative inanities? 

In a yearning tone, Boromir continued, "Everyone always says that they were so alike, Father and Aragorn. And I loved Father, oh Valar, did I love him. But Aragorn...Aragorn is the better man. And you would be the better Steward." 

"Boromir....," Faramir began, as it became suddenly clear that his brother envied Faramir having a father, when Boromir had lost his. Lost Denethor, and more, lost his good opinion of him. And that Boromir was doubting himself, as well as his father's memory. "Boromir. Listen. I listened to you, now you listen to me. Yes, I'm better with scrolls. But you're better with people. I never would have been able to smooth out that crisis with the new Lord of the Green Hills, or figure out what that wine merchant was angry about, but you did it effortlessly. Being Steward...ruling Gondor...it's more about people than it is about parchment. You're a good leader, brother." Faramir paused for a moment, then teased, "Now, if you could learn how to read and write a bit better than a particularly slow-witted monkey, that would be helpful...." 

Boromir laughed, his heart evidently lighter. Light enough that he pinched Faramir, causing them both to go underwater for a moment. 

When Faramir had his breath back, he added, "Maybe you could make that your harvest festival resolution?" 

"I'll make pounding the cheek out of you my harvest festival resolution, you nit." Boromir said, with a breathless, incredulous laugh. Both brothers were tired, and the cold water was leeching the energy out of them. 

Despite that, Faramir laughed at his brother's threat. Then, turning serious, he asked, "Brom, how much have you told Lord Aragorn, about...about how matters were, between Lord Denethor and I...?

"A bit more than you'd like." Replied Boromir, blunt and unapologetic, "Less than perhaps I should have - you tell him, or I will." 

"Orc-faced jerk." Said Faramir, who did not like that threat. 

"Half-witted brat." Boromir retorted, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight as he smiled. 

Despite their rather difficult circumstances, Faramir could not help smiling back. Then he began to think about how much things change, and yet still stay the same, and how much his brother had grown since leaving on the Quest. 

"You're still my hero, you know." Faramir said, quiet and sincere. 

"And you still sell yourself short, baby brother." Boromir replied a bit hoarsely, clearly touched. 

"And you're still an ass." Faramir marveled. 

"And you're still a smartmouthed little pimple." 

The brothers exchanged grins, perfectly at peace with oneanother, though increasingly exhausted. Faramir was quite relieved to hear the sound of voices calling their names. So much so, in fact, that he was afraid at first that he was imagining it. Still, if it were his own mind's invention, he would not have imagined Aragorn, or Gimli's deep voice, calling out warnings. He also heard a higher voice- Legolas? And a feminine one - Arwen? Gendarion's and Dervorin's voices, as well, and them Faramir had expected. Fortunately, Faramir did not hear Nessa, but it seemed like a good half of the King's inner circle was out, looking for them.

Boromir groaned. Despite his relief and burning muscles, Faramir had to wince in agreement. This was not a good way to end an evening. Still, they needed to get the attention of their rescuers, without bringing the rest of the walls down around them. To do that, Faramir would have to leave Boromir. 

"I'll be well enough by myself, for the moment, Fara." Boromir ordered, "I don't want to send these rocks tumbling - get as close as you can to that opening before calling to them." 

Faramir nodded and obeyed, going as close as he could to the holes above his head in the rocks, and calling out. Aragorn was the first to arrive, with Gimli not far behind. In lieu of lecturing, they asked questions about the cave. 

Aragorn, seeing that the discussions about how best to extract them were well under way, and likely planning to preempt an argument, began to navigate his body through the hole. Faramir marveled at how quickly this man who was his father could move. There were near a dozen people in attendance, most of whom were sworn to Aragorn and at least three of whom were his personal guards. And yet, the King was at the lip of the hole before any of them even noticed he was moving. It was, Faramir thought with some admiration, a very effective technique for cutting off debate about the issue. 

It wasn't even one of the guards who noticed. First it was Arwen, and she frowned, but did not move. Then it was Elrohir, who cursed at Aragorn. Moving lightning-fast, Elrohir's hand grabbed the back of Aragorn's tunic. He used his own weight to pull him down and to the left, so that Aragorn landed on his back a good distance away without disturbing the narrow access to their unstable watery prison. The Elrohir sat on Aragorn, to keep him still. 

"No!" Lord Elrond said firmly to the King of Men. "No, I am not risking losing you at the same time as your son and another whom you love like a son. Elladan, Anborn, and Gimli can go into the cave to help the children. Arwen and I need you here, and so will they, soon enough." 

Then Faramir heard Legolas, who sounded like he was readying a rope. "Me, rather than Gimli. He prefers dry caves. Besides, someone who knows something about how not to make this whole area collapse should stay up top, to supervise." 

And that was what happened. Legolas took over keeping Boromir upright and above water. Faramir almost cried in relief as Anborn took over treading water for the both of them. Elladan looked over both Boromir and Faramir. After diving down with a glowing stone to look at the wire holding Boromir fast to the rapidly filling cave, Elladan called up to Gimli and Aragorn a description of the tools he would need to free Faramir's brother. 

Faramir heard Aragorn's acknowledgment, and the noise of timbers being brought to shore up the cave. More men and a few dwarves came in through the narrow opening, carrying the wooden bracers and quick-drying mortar to hold them in place. One of the men was Aragorn. 

"I'm not defending you from Ada, baby brother." Elladan told him heartlessly. 

"How are they?" Aragorn asked, swimming first to Faramir to look him in the eyes. 

"I'm not defending you from Arwen, either." Elladan said grumpily. 

At that, Aragorn just grinned, his white teeth flashing in the darkness as he fondly patted Faramir on the cheek. 

Another body splashed lightly into the water. Through his cold and surprise, Faramir recognized their new rescuer as Arwen.

Elladan swore. "I'm not defending you to Ada, either, muinthel-laes."

Arwen chuckled, moving gracefully to take Aragorn's place by Faramir. In the same moment, Aragorn swam over to Boromir. Faramir wondered how much time the two of them must have spent together, working and living together, to move so smoothly as a team. Surely longer than a season. More like years, if Faramir was any judge. 

Elladan just sighed at them. "Ada is going to kill you both." 

Arwen took half of Faramir's weight from Anborn. "He'd be a hypocrite, then, 'Dan." She told her brother, "If it were one of us down down here, he would be here." 

"He's not the King or Queen of Gondor." 

"Should hope he's not the Queen of Gondor. Even Legolas is prettier." Boromir joked weakly. Anborn, holding Faramir, and Aragorn, his head just popping back to the surface after looking at Boromir's ankle, both laughed. 

"I will not let that remark go unpunished, mellon-nin." Legolas said to Boromir, but his eyes danced, and his grip on Boromir did not falter. 

Arwen, meanwhile, was still focused on Elladan, "Ada was the Lord of Imladris," Arwen pointed out, "and he never gave a tinker's curse for that, when we were in trouble. He was always right there, pulling us out, no matter how stupid we'd been or what danger we'd put him in. And I, for one, wouldn't want to be ruled by a King or a Queen who couldn't manage to help their own children, no matter how many well-meaning companions they were surrounded by."

"Faramir isn't your child." Elladan pointed out half-heartedly, with an apologetic glance towards Faramir. 

Faramir did his best to shrug, to show that he was not offended, even though he was surprised to find that he was, a bit. 

"He's Aragorn's son. And what's his, is mine." Arwen refuted, "It took me awhile to get my head wrapped around that one, but I'm there, now. Things happen that are beyond our control, tragedies produce wonders, and there is no sense in playing what you and Elrohir call the what-if game, in respect of whether this ever would have happened if Ada had just let Aragorn and I marry when we first intended to." Arwen tilted her head thoughtfully, "Or what would have happened if I'd just told Ada to just go....." She used a combination of Sindarin sounding words that Faramir thought might mean "put his opinion in a book and shelve it," then ended with, "And convinced Aragorn that we should have just run off and gotten married, all those fifty plus years ago." 

"Arwen!" Elladan practically whined, "Language!" 

With her slender body next to him, treading water so that he did not have to, Faramir could feel Arwen's answering laugh more than hear it. Her wet braid moved in the water like a snake as she riposted back, "Don't be precious, Elladan. You suggested as much yourself, thirty five years ago, after Aragorn returned to us following the defeat of the pirates at Umbar." Arwen's arm tightened around Faramir, "Besides, I could no more leave Faramir here without coming down to aid him than I could have let Rossidhiel drown in the north, carrying Belemir's babe, had fate been kinder and let me be there to save her. And what's more, you know that you feel the same, you donkey." Arwen ended with a fond smile. 

"No one is going to drown tonight, feather-head." Elladan told Arwen gently, not refuting her point. 

"Of course no one is going to drown," Elrohir said, as the older and fiercer of Elrond's twin sons dropped into the water without even a splash, "and of course we understand, even if we didn't want to see our baby sister and brother, as well as our pseudo-great-nephews, in an unstable stone cavern that could become a watery coffin at any time. But now we're all here together, and Ada wants to kill all of us." Elrohir handed Aragorn a rope, squeezed the King's shoulder, than asked his own twin and his sister with narrowed eyes, "What did Elladan suggest that you and Aragorn do, Arwen?" 

"We're not talking about it now." Aragorn said firmly. As Faramir marveled at -and envied- his father's ability to command the attention and respect of his centuries-older wife and siblings-by-law, Aragorn turned his attention back to Boromir. 

"Get Brom out first." Faramir recommended, shivering. 

Aragorn's grey eyes flickered over to Faramir, before returning to the brother in front of him. 

"Boromir." Aragorn said quietly. "I'm going to send Faramir up first. His breathing is more shallow than yours, and he is more chilled. Then I will come back, and help my brothers and Legolas to cut you free." 

Boromir whitened, but nodded firmly in agreement. "Get him out of here." 

"I'm f...fine," Faramir objected, hating that his body was betraying him in its reaction to the cold, but determined not to leave his brother. "'M g..g..going to ss..stay." 

"You," Aragorn said firmly, "Are going to do as you are told, and not cause me or anyone else in your family any more worry tonight. Do you understand me, ion-nin?" 

Faramir narrowed his eyes at his father, but didn't protest further as Aragorn and Elladan helped him up and out of the hole, into the waiting arms of Lord Elrond and several other healers. 

"Hush, Faramir-guren." Elrond said in a soft, reassuring tone as he wrapped Faramir in heated blankets. "Do not worry. All will be well."

Warm and dry at last, with his brother safely in the hands of Middle Earth's finest warriors, Faramir found himself fighting sleep. 

A fight he realized that he must have lost, when he woke up in his own bed the next morning, wearing only small clothes and in the arms of a nearly-naked Dervorin. 

"It isn't what it looks like." Dervorin said with a grin, slapping Faramir's thigh and pulling himself up to a seated position against Faramir's soft pillows. 

"Ugh." Groaned Faramir, who pretty clearly remembered most of the previous night. 

"Oh, yes. My friend, you have gotten yourself into quite a lot of trouble." Dervorin said, still with an irritating grin. He shoved what looked like a foot of quilts and blankets off of his lap, leaving them still heaped on Faramir as he got out of the bed and grabbed clothes. Faramir's clothes, Faramir thought, but he didn't really begrudge them. 

"Quite timely trouble, from my perspective." Dervorin continued. "I should thank you and Boromir both - my Uncle Ty and Cousin Gen are both well distracted from my own recent escapades." 

"Happy to be of assistance, I suppose." Muttered Faramir darkly, as he rubbed his hands over his head and face, wishing for yesterday's events to have been nothing but a particularly odd dream. 

"Hold onto that thought." Dervorin recommended, the mug of coffee he handed Faramir more welcome than the sympathy, "Because your-father-the-King wants to talk to you, and Bor-oaf-mir as well. And he did not look happy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: 
> 
> "No one is ever quite ready; everyone is always caught off guard. Parenthood chooses you. And you open your eyes, look at what you've got, say "Oh, my gosh," and recognize that of all the balls there ever were, this is the one you should not drop. It's not a question of choice.”   
> ― Marisa de los Santos

[Aragorn POV] 

In his time, Aragorn had been treasured son (twice over), beloved baby brother (twice over), and mythical returned hero (twice over). For many years he had been a wanderer in the wilderness and a one-time sword for hire, but he had always been Arwen's one true love. 

Now the One Ring had been destroyed. Aragorn's long exile, his days of waiting, were over. Now he was King (twice over), husband, and...father. Twice over. 

His son and his son's brother sat across from him. Wary, unhappy, and likely still sore from their overnight exertions. They'd spent hours treading frigid water in the shadow of an unstable cliff. If they weren't impressive swimmers in excellent physical condition, the rescue party would have been too late, and they'd be dead. Aragorn could very easily have been organizing a funeral. A tragedy of inconceivable proportions from any perspective. For a father, the end of the world. 

That didn't make knowing what to say any easier. Not when he'd once swum and climbed in that same quarry, when he was their age. When he'd done so even after he was a decade older than Boromir was now, when he'd been the bosom companion and then the reviled foe of Boromir's father. Not when Faramir's gray eyes were doing their best to hide doubt and pain. As if Faramir were wondering whether this would be the moment, this the infraction, that would cause Aragorn to loose faith in him, and start building up walls between them instead of trying to tear them down. 

Aragorn sighed, and tried to catch those gray eyes, so that he could convey without words, 'No, you foolish youth.' So that he could assure Faramir, yet again, that Aragorn would never do such a thing. Aragorn promised himself, again, that he would banish that fear from his son, that he would make it so that Faramir never had to look at him with that doubt and pain in his eyes, no matter how long that took. Quite a task, for a man who'd only become a King less than a year ago, and a father a bare month after that. Particularly when Faramir was uncharacteristically uncooperative, his gaze moving between his boots and a portrait somewhere behind and to Aragorn's right. 

Taking a leaf out of Boromir's book, Aragorn aimed a light kick at Faramir's boot. 

Startled gray eyes of a shade between heather and slate flew to meet Aragorn's. 

"I'm not readying an execution squad, Faramir. Do calm yourself." 

Faramir weighed the value of that. He nodded, steadied. How much this boy of his saw in Aragorn's eyes, the King was not sure. But whatever it was, it must have been enough, which was a relief to Aragorn. As King, yes, but even more as a father. 

Aragorn nodded back, then fixed both brothers with a firm look. They'd each started this interview by accepting full blame. Aragorn had told them to be quiet. He'd needed a chance to think. That Boromir and Faramir would automatically protect one another was not a surprise. It was even admirable, in its way. That the two of them thought they needed to defend one another from Aragorn was...less so. He wanted to snap at them, to point out very bluntly that he was not their enemy. More cleaning up after Denethor. Aragorn resisted the urge to grit his teeth. He took a deep breath, then decided to fixate on the actual issue at hand. 

"You were both aware that the quarries, and that side of the mountain entire, were off-limits to anyone who was not with the re-construction crews, were you not?" 

"I wasn't thinking of that...." Boromir began. 

"But it's not that dangerous..." protested Faramir at the same time. 

"Enough!" Aragorn thundered. Both younger men stared at him, as the King tried to hold onto his patience. 

"What was the rule, gentlemen?" Aragorn asked, his voice hard. 

A flicker of a glance between the two, then Boromir answered in a tone of mingled resignation and apology, "No one was to go there, Aragorn, save for those you designated." 

"And the two of you assumed that you were exempt from this decision, why?" 

Faramir's eyes flashed a warning. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at him, not backing down. 

"Err...it was a...bad...idea?" Boromir offered tentatively, after looking for help from Faramir and not receiving any. 

Aragorn leaned forward to clasp Boromir's shoulder, not bothering to hide his sympathy. "I know that you had good reason for not thinking clearly last night, dear one. I do know that it Denethor's birthing day. That is why I asked you how you were doing, at dinner." 

Boromir took a deep, harsh breath. Faramir's hand moved to clasp his brother's other shoulder.

"You were a bit...oblique, about that. Sir." Aragorn's son pointed out deferentially. "I thought that it was a general question, and did not realize that it implied specific knowledge." 

"Ah." Aragorn said, half acknowledgement, half apology. He patted Boromir's knee. "I am sorry, then. I should have been more clear, and kept a better eye on you." He turned to regard Faramir, "And you, as well." Boromir was still breathing harshly, and Faramir was too distracted by his brother's distress and Aragorn's unexpected concern and affection to make the protest that they were not children. 

Aragorn waited until he had their attention again. "The fact remains," He said, patience again intact, "That the two of you have a history of behaving as if the rules do not apply to you." 

"Faramir does." Boromir disagreed, back in control of himself again. Faramir himself was quiet. 

"Actually, it is you who does that, most often, Boromir muin." Aragorn pointed out, frustrated but also a bit amused. "I do not think that Denethor enforced many rules on you, save those which were his own. Faramir..." Aragorn eyed his son, "Takes onto himself the decision whether to even inform either of us that there might be circumstances which might require an order." 

Faramir looked as if he wanted to dispute that, but did not feel that he had grounds upon which to do so. Aragorn nodded at his son, content for now that his point had been taken. 

Aragorn squeezed Boromir's shoulder, then moved back to regard the two younger men again. "Your reckless disobedience nearly cost you both your lives, last night." 

"A little cold water would hardly have killed us." Boromir was almost smirking, "Swan princes that we both are." 

In one explosive movement, Aragorn stood up and began pacing in front of the long windows. He needed the space, to suppress the urge to smack that irritating smile off of Boromir's face. Faramir, at least, had the sense to be quiet. What Aragorn's foster-father would have had to say to that, the King could barely even imagine. He paused, as a thought occurred. 

"Well, then." Aragorn murmured, half to himself. Elrond's solutions would not always work for Aragorn's boys, because they were young men, capable and experienced leaders in their own right, and not boys or untried youths. But some of Elrond's punishments might work quite well. He'd already planned to use Elrond's paddle on their foolish backsides. And now...if they truly believed, as at least Boromir evidently did, that they had not been in danger of losing their fool lives...

"Well, then." Aragorn said again, resolved now. "I think that the two of you, and my father and my brother Elladan and possibly also Warden Del of the House of Healing, should spend some time detailing exactly what happened to you, and what might have happened to you, had you been less lucky. Or had I not gone to check on Faramir...." Aragorn focused his gaze on his son, "And discovered that he was not in his chambers, and searched for him...." 

Aragorn broke off and took a deep breath, putting that remembered fear aside. 

"And I think perhaps Gimli could be of assistance as well." Aragorn concluded grimly. 

Boromir winced. Faramir looked equally appalled at the thought, but hid it better. 

"Neither of you are immortal." Aragorn concluded quietly. "Do not scare me - scare all of us- like that again." He met their eyes, and then added, "Please." 

"We won't." Boromir promised before Faramir had a chance to speak, "I'll see to it." 

Faramir sighed. Aragorn smiled at him, and Faramir relaxed again. 

Aragorn fixed both brothers with another stern look. "I think you both know that you've earned a paddling." 

"At least." Boromir muttered. Faramir, pale again, merely nodded. 

"Boromir first, then." Aragorn commanded. "Faramir, you may wait in the gallery." 

Faramir clapped his brother on the shoulder, then hastened to obey. To Aragorn's surprise, he paused at the door. Fearlessly meeting the King's eyes, his son appealed silently, *Boromir is...troubled. Be kind, if you can.* 

Aragorn nodded his understanding, and his agreement. "Go along, son." He told Faramir, "I'll leave your bold brother in one piece." 

"One sore piece." Boromir objected ruefully. 

Aragorn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That the near-whine comforted Faramir helped. 

The King waited until the door was securely closed, then said, "If you don't want a reddened backside, Boromir, then find a better, less dangerous way to deal with your problems." 

Boromir was already doffing his tunic and loosening the laces of his leggings as Aragorn continued, "It's not a if we haven't had this discussion before, over one matter or another. You're just as bad a patient as your brother, and often more inclined to heedless behavior than he." 

"Yes, yes...." Boromir agreed, unable to completely hide a groan as Aragorn retrieved the paddle from the drawer of his desk. The first time Boromir saw this particular paddle, he'd almost laughed. Apparently Denethor had been inclined to use one that was larger and more intimidating, or failing that, his belt. The paddle that Aragorn's grandfather had made at Elrond's direction was not, to the unknowing observer, particularly frightening. A mere 11 and a half inches long, including the handle, and a little less than four inches across, it was not that big. Nor was it that thick - Aragorn had measured once, surprised to find that the hated instrument was less than a third of an inch thick. 

But after the first few swats, Boromir had not seemed inclined to laugh, nor had Aragorn ever been, not any of the times when it had been applied to his own hindquarters. As it very occasionally still was, though he felt no need to inform Boromir of that. Nor Faramir either, for that matter, although when it came to Faramir...Aragorn was not sure how much those gray eyes saw, and understood. It did not seem to make the youth respect his father less, but Aragorn would still like to know, at the least. 

That curiosity was not likely to be settled today, Aragorn accepted, as he pulled a straight-backed chair into the center of the room. Sitting, he helped Boromir lay down over his lap, waiting until his Steward had the flat of his hands braced against the soft carpet before lifting the younger man's thin undershirt to reveal his pale, muscular buttocks. Aragorn secured Boromir loosely with one arm 'round the Steward's waist, then proceeded to apply sharp, firm smacks with the flat of his hand to the rapidly coloring surface before him. The paddle waited on the desk - Aragorn was not so annoyed with either of his "sons" that he would use the instrument without first warming up their bottoms so that the paddle did not hurt as much as it might. Aragorn was not sure that he had ever been angry enough to do that, thought he had in the past occasionally been so short of time that he'd had no option. Boromir took this part of the spanking well, but Aragorn had grown to expect nothing else. 

Aragorn finished the warm-up as soon as he'd raised a healthy blush over Boromir's buttocks. Shaking his hand to remove the soreness, Aragorn ruefully wondered if the process had hurt him more than his Steward. Tightening his arm around Boromir's middle, Aragorn warned, "Twenty, son, and I'm not going to stint." 

"Yes, sir." Boromir said, at the last a bit chagrined. Aragorn shook his head, not bothering to hide a smile. The fact that it often took getting to this point, up-ended and bare-bottomed over the royal lap, with his backside already stinging and heading towards worse, to intimidate Boromir...well, that was just the younger man's irrepressible personality. Aragorn liked him for it, even as he stiffened his resolve to make an impression with the old oak paddle. 

And make an impression he did. Boromir nearly jumped at the first swat, and was cursing under his breath by the sixth. Smack...smack...smack sounded the paddle, loud in the bright room, as Aragorn applied it methodically to the entire surface of Boromir's buttocks, and even to his upper thighs when the Steward began to kick. Aragorn secured his grip on Boromir, and applied the last four swats with vigor to the tender undercurve of his bottom. 

"Done." Said Aragorn, wincing himself in sympathy at his Steward's glowing buttocks. He dropped the paddle onto the carpeted floor, and rubbed Boromir's back gently, waiting for his dear young friend's breath to even out again. 

Boromir accepted Aragorn's hand to get back to his feet, then immediately knelt before the King, bowing his blond head. Aragorn leaned forward to press a father's kiss to the top of the soft, gold locks, cupping Boromir's cheek gently with one hand as he pulled away. Tilting up his young friend's strong, square chin, Aragorn said firmly, "Be more cursed careful, Boromir. For you and for your brother." 

"You've my word." Boromir swore, and Aragorn knew that his word was good. But he also knew that young men of Boromir's age felt themselves immortal, and that it would not be overly long before they were here, again. But likely not for the same exact cause - Boromir and Faramir both were smarter than that. 

Aragorn embraced Boromir, letting the younger man rest his head on Aragorn's chest. 

"Good." Aragorn murmured, still shaken by his fear, the night before, that he might have lost them both. His son, and his son's brother, who was like a son to him. 

Releasing Boromir, Aragorn helped him to his feet. Boromir pulled up his leggings and rubbed his sore backside, fixing Aragorn with a slightly aggrieved look. Aragorn just shook his head at that. He knew full well that Boromir wouldn't have dared to give Denethor even that much of an attitude about a justly earned punishment. It was not more than Elrond would have ignored, or Elladan, so Aragorn felt no qualms at letting it go. 

Boromir pushed his hair behind his ear, a gesture familiar to Aragorn from even the early days of the Quest. Boromir was unsure of something, but determined. 

"Be a bit careful with our Faramir, hey?" The Steward asked, protective older brother that he was. 

Aragorn felt his heart warm again. Squeezing Boromir's shoulder, he promised. "I will be." Looking Boromir over again, Aragorn realized that there was more to that question than just an older brother's concern. There was...almost something of jealousy, as well. Remembering something that Elladan had said, Aragorn carefully asked, "I had thought to ask for your advice, in fact, other-son." 

Boromir's gray-blue eyes widened at the endearment, and his shoulders straightened at the trust. Aragorn congratulated himself for having put a foot right in this confusing morass that was the trifecta of their relationship, father and son and son's brother, who was himself the son of Aragorn's son's verbally and emotionally abusive -and highly negligent-father. Boromir, who was Aragorn's son's brother, and in some ways his father, as well. Aragorn needed Boromir to help him win a place in Faramir's heart, so it was good that he loved Boromir for himself, as well. 

"I...you seem to have a good handle on my kit brother, actually." Boromir said, uncharacteristically uncertain, and yes, a bit jealous. Elladan had pegged that one correctly, Aragorn noted. 

"Beyond that, well, Faramir usually responds best to being asked, to having them explained to him - to being talked with instead of yelled at." Boromir continued, settling into his topic with more certainty a he continued, "There does comes a time when it's best to give him orders." Boromir's teeth flashed in a smile, "Gently, first, if you know what's best for you. But sometimes, he does not know what he wants, and then is the time to give him direction, and care for him." Boromir sighed, "And sometimes, he is determined, and you must order him sternly, and then keep a cursed good eye on him - and then pray to the Valar that he'll stay put, because without their intercession on your behalf, he may well not." 

"I see." Said Aragorn, a bit faintly. The first parts of that, he felt that the could handle. A son whom even confident Boromir doubted his ability to keep safe - that was an intimidating prospect, if not, at this point, any longer a surprising one. 

To Aragorn's surprise, Boromir continued, "I think what he might need here, is to be treated in exactly the same way you have treated me." 

Since that had been Aragorn's intention anyway, it was easy to nod in thoughtful agreement. 

"Too often," Boromir added bravely, sparing himself nothing, "Faramir was punished for the wrong things. Let off when he shouldn't have been, instead of punished for the right things." Boromir sighed heavily, "I failed him too, at that." 

Aragorn's heart ached for Boromir. He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew that something needed to be said, and that he might not be the best person, but it was him who was here, who had the chance to speak. Perhaps that is what it meant to be a parent - not knowing what to do, but knowing that you had to try your best, anyway. 

"Boromir," Aragorn said gently, "you are only five years older than your brother. You've loved and protected him his entire life, but you could not be expected to have been his father, as well. You have never failed him, as a brother. Do not blame yourself, for failing to be a father to him." Aragorn could still remember Boromir at the age of four, swinging his toy sword and charging fearlessly into the market place to slay imaginary orcs. Just a year later, he became an older brother. Five years later, he became the closest thing to a father that Aragorn's son would ever know, at least during his youth, within the walls of Minas Tirith. 

"Faramir...he needed a father. He may still." Boromir said, pained. 

"Let me try at that, for now." Aragorn appealed, wrapping his hand around Boromir's shoulder, and pulling the younger man against him. "Help me, when you can. But the responsibility here, is mine, not yours. Please." 

When Boromir stayed silent, Aragorn moved his grip to both of the younger man's shoulders, and pushed him back far enough to look him straight in the eyes. "You will always be my friend, Boromir, and a brother of my heart. For what we survived together on the quest, when we saw one another at our best and at our worst. You are my son's beloved brother, and he is yours. And in some ways, he is your first child. You will always be my brother, and he too, for he is yours. And you will always be my son, for he is my son." 

"Cursed confusing." Boromir complained, shaking his head with a frustrated smile. 

"Aye, it is." Aragorn agreed, relieved to have comforted his other-son, "Confusing, but we'll work it out. We have time, and space enough." He smiled at Boromir and clapped him on the shoulder. "Now get out of here. Gimli wants a word with you." 

Boromir winced. "You won't let him hurt me, will you Ada Aragorn?" He asked, and only half in jest, if Aragorn was any judge. 

Aragorn laughed. "Well, Legolas is in charge of that." Eyes dancing, Aragorn suggested, "Perhaps you shouldn't have called him 'pretty' last night." 

"Well, I could hardly let an opportunity like that go to waste." Said Boromir with a rueful grin.

"One of the many things I like about you." 

"My fine sense of humor?" 

"More your willingness to step where wargs fear to dread, but yes, we can call it your sense of humor, if you like." Aragorn offered fondly, rather glad, as he guided Boromir out of the room, that his Steward didn't look like a man leaving the site of a traumatic experience. Boromir was generally irrepressible. As the man who had to keep him in line, Aragorn didn't always appreciate that, but more often than not, he did. And he certainly did now, as Faramir's eyes found the two of them, and something in the stiff line of his back relaxed. 

Then it was time to rescue a slightly green looking Faramir from Gimli. It seemed, from what little Aragorn heard between the door and the table where Legolas, Gimli and Elrohir had Faramir cornered, that Gimli had been regaling Aragorn's son with tales of "grisly quarry accidents I have known." Aragorn suppressed a smile, and heartlessly left a wincing Boromir in Faramir's place, rescuing his son only to shove him gently in the direction of the door leading back to Aragorn's study. 

In some ways, this interview would be harder than punishing Boromir. In some ways, easier, because Aragorn had a fairly good idea of what it was that Faramir had been thinking. He was a younger brother himself, after all, and understood a younger brother's need to engage in impressive feats to win the regard of older siblings, siblings whose fame and accomplishments were such that the young Aragorn had felt he would never be able to compare. 

Aragorn shoved the confused Faramir gently onto a chair, and sat on the edge of his desk. 

"So," He asked Faramir, "What is the deepest artifact of wreckage you've seen in the quarry?" 

"Ah...." Began Faramir uncertainly, even a big cagily, "We were not diving, last night, you know. Just...talking. And then..." 

"Learning not to swim closer to unstable cliffs without adequate reason and support, yes, I know, Faramir. I was more wondering whether or not you've seen the sunken statute of old King Earnur." 

"Ah..." But now Faramir's eyes were twinkling, "Yes, I have. And below him, his horse." 

"Impressive." Remarked Aragorn, and meant it. "The statute of Earnur was as far down as I was ever able to dive." And it was further than Denethor had ever managed, much to the former Steward's chagrin, but there was a whole host of reasons why Aragorn wasn't going to mention that. Instead, he recalled, "Imrahil told me of the horse. Said that its saddle was studded with rubies." 

"And pearls." Added Faramir. "And, ah..." He blushed. 

"Yes, Imrahil mentioned that as well." Aragorn said, hiding a smile. "Or, rather, didn't. His sense of propriety was much closer to yours or mine than your brother's, and I didn't press him." Growing stern again, Aragorn added, "You know that there is to be no diving at that quarry pool. Not for some time." 

"I know. I'm sorry, for what it is worth. I - we - didn't mean to....didn't mean for that to happen, to endanger everyone else." Faramir stumbled to a stop. 

Aragorn nodded, outwardly neutral but inwardly rather pleased to have gotten such an honest and uncensored response. "I know that you did not, and I trust that you will be more careful in the future." 

"Yes, Sir." 

"And I also trust," Aragorn continued, with a soft smile for his son, "That I can trust you not to tell your older brother that I have seen Earnur in the pool. You are wise enough not to make of it a competition - Boromir...." 

"He can take a contest or a jest entirely too far." Faramir agreed, with a self-conscious smile of his own. He paused, and Aragorn thought that it might be time to move things along, to get this unpleasantness over with. But something told him to wait, and he did. 

"I have...a request, to make of you, Sir. After...ah, after this is over perhaps." Faramir said diffidently, blushing again. 

"You may ask now, Faramir." Aragorn said gently, inwardly triumphant to have Faramir even willing to ask, and hoping that whatever it was, would be something that he could grant. He did not think that Faramir knew it, but he would give the youth almost anything, if Faramir would dare to ask. 

Faramir hesitated. 

"I will not deny it now yet grant it afterward, if that is your concern, son." Aragorn said kindly, "You are in trouble, yes, but I am not angry with you, nor have you lost my respect and regard." 

His son took a deep breath, then asked, "I would like to make sure that Lord Denethor is mentioned prominently amongst those to be honored at the first Remembrance Day ceremonies, next month." 

Aragorn took a moment to think about that, almost wishing that he had put more pressure on Eomer to encourage Eowyn to stay in Gondor, instead of returning to Rohan. Faramir could be difficult to understand at the best of times, and he was easier, with Eowyn beside him. The Remembrance Day ceremonies would be difficult enough for this quiet and gentle son of his, what with the honoring of the rangers who had died between Osgiliath and the Pelennor. Honoring Denethor would not make it easier. But it was one of the first times that Faramir had asked him for anything, and he was an adult, and a brother, too. 

"Are you sure, Faramir?" Aragorn asked, after that moment. 

Faramir nodded. "He was a good leader, in many ways, for many years." 

Aragorn could not argue that. He knew as much, himself. 

"There is no need to go into further details." Faramir continued. "What he accomplished in his life, those deeds which were noble and which were not...controversial, are enough." 

"I will see to it, then." Aragorn promised. He hesitated, then asked, "Do you wish to be involved?" Aragorn would much rather that Faramir were not, but he would at least hear his son out. 

"No." Said Faramir, much to Aragorn's relief. "Best to leave it to Hurin, I think. And perhaps Lord Andasond." 

"And a sop to them, after losing the vote on the pensioning. Clever, Faramir." 

"That occurred to me." Faramir agreed shyly, "But it wasn't why I asked. I...after talking to Boromir last night, I realized...that with the plans as they are, he might not be prominently honored, when he deserves to be, for things that have nothing whatsoever to do with me. His name does not deserve to be forgotten, and...perhaps no one has a better right than I, to make sure that it isn't." 

"As long as you realize that he did not treat you fairly, and that no one is to treat you that way again, I have no quarrel with that." Aragorn didn't have to like it, but he would leave it alone, for now. And consider bribing Eomer to move Faramir and Eowyn's planned summer wedding up to the spring. 

"I do." Faramir promised. 

"Good. Come on, then. Let's have this over with, unless there is anything else." 

Faramir shook his head to confirm that there wasn't. Aragorn got the spanking and the paddling over with quickly - they both knew why they were here, after all. He did give Faramir the same spanking and the same number of swats with the paddle that he had given Boromir, but he was more careful about it. Treating one's sons equably was important, yes, but not recognizing that they were different and sometimes needed different things could be equally as much a mistake. Faramir was more slender than Boromir, and bruised more easily. Aragorn spent more time with the warm-up spanking, and moderated the strength behind the swats with the paddle. Faramir never need know, and Aragorn did not think that Boromir would mind. 

The end result was still a red-bottomed, red-faced penitent, and tears besides. Faramir's tolerance for pain was lower than his brother's, and his pride was centered around different things than not reacting honestly to a spanking. What troubled Aragorn was that Faramir had a harder time accepting comfort after a punishment. That was part of why he kept an eye on Faramir, after. Since both brothers were in good health despite their icy swim, Aragorn sent them to help with putting up signs and warnings about the dangers of the quarry, and with starting to fence off the most common approaches to the area. Aragorn went along, lending his hand to some simple physical labor a boon to the worries of his new position, and his terrified fear of the previous evening. Keeping the peace between the various personalities in their group was a fine distraction, as was keeping Faramir from accidentally injuring himself with a hammer. Aragorn was coming to realize that his son was to any type of handiwork what Eowyn was to a kitchen. Boromir's approach was to take the hammer away and order Faramir to do go and do something else. Aragorn hadn't given up on teaching Faramir to be less of a hazard to himself, but he was gaining a great deal of sympathy for what Boromir had to deal with. 

On their way back to the Citadel to rest before dinner, Aragorn stopped the brothers at the point in the path where Gimli had determined the area to be too unstable for casual passage. 

He waited until they were alone, and then said, "If you go past here without observing proper safety precautions again, then we'll come back here and have a discussion that no one will like. Is that understood, gentlemen?" 

Faramir and Boromir agreed that it was. All in all, Aragorn felt that he'd dealt with the matter fairly well. But that didn't stop him from brooding in the common room of their apartments in the King's House, while Faramir napped in an adjacent bedroom. Arwen had taken on some duty of Nessanie's so that the Princess of Ithilien could be with her husband after his near-death experience, so Aragorn was alone. Or would be, if someone- probably Arwen- hadn't sent Legolas to keep him company. Although it was always possible that Legolas had decided to show up of his own accord. 

"Have you had your fill of teasing Boromir, yet?" Aragorn asked his friend, unable to entirely hold a smile. Boromir and Legolas could both give as good as they got, so he hadn't felt the need to intervene in the rather pointed contest of wit and will going on between the two of them. 

"Not yet." Legolas began, with a pointed grin, "I still owe him, for making fun of me after I ran afoul of you, over the summer. Did you know...." 

A panicked shout from Faramir's bedchamber interrupted their conversation and brought both Aragorn and Legolas running to Faramir's door. Aragorn didn't hesitate to throw the door open, his heart aching at the sight of his son writhing on the bed and yelling for his men to watch their backs. 

"I'll go for someone." Legolas pledged, already running soundlessly in the direction of the main citadel even as Aragorn nodded and murmured his thanks. The King cautiously approached the bed, wanting desperately to alleviate his son's suffering but at the same time knowing from experience that waking a trained soldier in the throes of a battle memory was a dangerous proposition. If it would spare Faramir pain, Aragorn was not opposed to taking the risk, but a potential wrestling match on top of everything else wasn't anything that Faramir needed. There were only a few people who could reliably wake Faramir from a foul dream, and Aragorn was not amongst them. And likely even more so not today, when, merited as it had been, he'd had to punish the youth. 

Faramir yelled about Nazgul attacking from above, seeking for his sword and arching in fear. Aragorn swore softly, then reached out to gently grasp Faramir's shoulder. "Shh, Faramir. The Enemy is gone, and his foul creatures with him." 

The younger man sat up, panting with fear and adrenaline. His gray eyes were open, but vacant. Whatever he saw, it wasn't the here and now. "Boromir?" He gasped. 

"Safe, and well. The war is over, Faramir. I promise." Aragorn said, soft yet fierce. 

"Menohtar? Damrod? Mablung? Anborn? Madril?" 

"Safe." Aragorn answered. It was true, in a way. All but Anborn were in Mandos' Halls, but likely safe enough there, if Elrond and Erestor and every priest and priestess whom Aragorn had ever known were to be believed. 

"Ah." Faramir said, blinking in confusion. 

"Go back to sleep, Faramir. All is well." Aragorn urged. 

Faramir did, passing out more than falling into a gentle sleep. Tension still warped his slender frame, and his eyes under his eyelids twitched as if he were still seeing a battle play out before him. Aragorn sighed, moving more fully onto the bed and pulling Faramir up against him. 

"Shh, ion-nin. You and all of yours are safe." The King whispered. Ever so gradually, Faramir relaxed against him. Aragorn let out a deep, relieved breath, and bent his head to press a paternal kiss against the top of Faramir's red-gold hair. 

A slight scuffle from the door drew his attention. Legolas stood there, his hand on Prince Amrothos' shoulder. Legolas was clearly pleased, but Faramir's youngest Dol Amroth cousin seemed more taken aback. A soft word and a gentle shove from Legolas, and Amrothos moved back into the main rooms of the apartment. Legolas entered, making no more noise than a cat. 

He raised an eyebrow at Aragorn's dusty boots. Aragorn shook his head, signalling to leave them. Legolas nodded, and pulled a soft blanket over the King and his sleeping son. 

Some time passed. Aragorn drowsed, lulled into slumber by Faramir's steady breaths and warmth. He was asleep enough to be startled himself when Faramir jerked back into wakefulness. Wide gray eyes took in the scene and the still sleep-muddled King, and Faramir began to fall all over himself apologizing. 

Between searching for the brothers and seeing that they were not harmed by their ordeal, Aragorn really didn't feel like he'd had enough sleep to deal with this. But again, there was not much choice. 

"You have nothing to apologize for, ion-nin...Faramir. Truly." 

Faramir shook his head, running hands through his sleep-mussed hair and pacing in an aggravated fashion. 

"I have nightmares of my own, Faramir." Aragorn said, some frustration seeping into his tone, "There is no shame in leaning on someone else's strength for awhile." 

"Aye, but it should not be your problem, Sir." Said Faramir, clearly pained. "You have already done enough for me. I...I have already caused you more than enough trouble, just in this last day." 

"What absolute rot, son. You're sleep deprived, and spouting foolishness." Aragorn scolded, "I am terribly sorry for your having suffered, and for your ill dreams. But I am not sorry that I was able to give you some solace. Do not for one moment presume to think otherwise." 

"I...I see." 

"I'm not sure that you do." Said Aragorn pensively, "But I do hope that you will, in time." The King yawned. "Go bathe and get ready for dinner, Faramir. It wouldn't do to be late. Wake me when you're done bathing." 

"Yes, Sir, but..." Faramir trailed off as Aragorn's eyes closed. The King felt the soft blanket being pulled back around his shoulders. What seemed like only a few moments later, Faramir was gently shaking him awake. In just undershirt and leggings, his wet hair still dripping, Faramir looked very young, despite his neat mustache. Aragorn could barely remember being thirty and three. He'd been in Rohan, then, serving Thengel-King, Eomer's and Eowyn's grandfather. He had been missing Arwen fiercely, just as Faramir was now missing Eowyn. But Aragorn had also been troubled by a breach with his family...he was working hard to make sure that Faramir did not have that burden to bear. 

Offering Aragorn a hand to rise to his feet, Faramir said, "Thank you. For...for everything you've done for us, in the past day. Coming to find us," Faramir's lips twitched into a smile, "And keeping your temper. I know that you have said I need not thank you...but I am grateful." 

"I'd much rather you took me for granted, to be honest." Aragorn confessed. Eyes narrowing, he remembered, "Faramir, just how was it that no one knew where you were, last night?" A guard or someone should have known, should have been with Faramir, if he'd left the Citadel complex. 

"Ah, if we do not want to be late for dinner, then you will need to hurry..." Faramir said, hiding a smile. 

"We'll talk about this later." Aragorn promised. 

From the expression on Faramir's face, he found this particular aspect of having a father less to his taste than certain others. Aragorn had no fondness for playing citadel guard, either, but he did want to keep track of his wandering offspring. Whatever explanation Faramir came up with would likely be entertaining, at the least. 

With a sigh, Aragorn added, "You're not going to be in further trouble with me, son. I've no wish to punish you again. 'Tis a safety issue, or was yestereve, that is all." 

Faramir nodded thoughtfully, which Aragorn supposed was the best he was going to get. Time, perhaps, to say something else, while Faramir was still unsettled, but appeared to be receptive. 

"Fair warning to thee, my son." Aragorn said softly, meeting the gray eyes which were near a mirror of his own, "I am proud of you, and I notice the things that you do, the good and the ill-advised. There is nothing you could do which would make you lose my affection, or scare me away from trying to win yours. I've yet to fail when I gave something my all-out best. And I've never felt as deeply about being a part of anyone's life as I feel about yours, with the exception of Arwen - but those do not need to be separate matters, as I hope you begin to understand." 

"You...do not pull your punches, do you, Sir?" Faramir asked, much taken aback. 

"Not when it comes to you, no. Not unless I think you need it." Aragorn slapped Faramir gently on the back, then left the youth to finish getting dressed, and likely also to mull over what Aragorn had said. The King hoped that some of it might sink in- Eru knew that he had been trying. And, difficult as the past day had been, he thought that he might finally be making some progress, again. 

 

[Faramir POV] 

Faramir wasn't sure how he felt, as he wondered idly around the richly appointed main room of the King and Queen's apartments. Relieved, yes. Cared for, even. Certainly unsettled. To calm his nerves, he picked up a book on the building of Minas Tirith. His hindquarters were still tender enough that he chose not to sit, instead opening the book on top of a reading table. 

The soft "shh" of the outer door opening and closing revealed Arwen, dusty and tired from visiting orphanages in the city. And in a hurry. She stopped only briefly to greet Faramir before disappearing into the suite she shared with Aragorn...his father. It was still strange and often uncomfortable for Faramir to be sharing this space with them, as spacious and comfortable as it was. 

At first, after the war, he had just continued to reside in the Steward's quarters. It had become a bit crowded, with Nessanie and Tavan and baby Baranor, and Baranor's new nurse, and Nessanie's new handmaid, and Boromir's new squires, and Faramir's new squire. For the most part, Faramir hadn't minded the noise or the chaos, and he'd rather enjoyed the company. When he'd felt the need for solitude, the Citadel offered libraries and quiet places aplenty (among them, Boromir's office, which was most often vacant). 

Then, Faramir's parentage had been brought to light, and a conflict over where he would live gradually ensued. At first, Faramir had moved into the Dol Amroth guest quarters in the Citadel, and then into a separate apartment in the King's House. After Aragorn and Boromir had learned that Faramir was still making occasional forays into Harad to support Gondor's southern spy network, Faramir had been ordered to move either back into the Steward's rooms or into the royal apartment. He'd chosen the latter, largely because Aragorn and Arwen's room were less crowded. Also, it made the ostensible story for his moving out of the smaller apartments in the King's House more reasonable. Arwen was having those rooms updated and redecorated, in anticipation of Faramir and Eowyn's marriage the following summer. Until then, Faramir was where someone, namely Aragorn, could "keep a closer eye on him." It was no small amount irritating, as gracious as both King and Queen had been about the invasion. 

Arwen emerged before Aragorn, wearing a more casual dress in autumnal shades. 

"Falling leaves, or ruby drops?" She asked Faramir, holding out two different sets of earrings. 

"The leaves, I think." Said Faramir, after walking over to take a closer look. "They really are quite clever." He admired. Jeweled and enameled metal in the shape of tiny falling leaves were attached to, and hanging from the ends of, slender strands of white and yellow gold. 

The Queen smiled as she put on the earrings. "My mother made them." She said proudly, "With the help of Master Edric, a dwarven jeweler, and the elleth Taminixe, who later married Erestor." Arwen shook her head, setting the jeweled leaves swirling and chiming, bright against the dark curtain of her hair. Then she turned her attention to studying Faramir. 

"I'm sure that Aragorn has already talked to you, about not doing stupid things." 

"Ah, yes." Faramir agreed uncomfortably. 

Arwen tilted her head. "Why didn't you tell someone, Faramir, at least where you were going? If we'd known that, it would have saved us the better part of an hour. If Aragorn hadn't remembered the quarry, and Denethor's fondness for it, and known that it was his birthday...last night could have ended much worse than it did, Faramir. You are smart enough to know that." 

"I...valued Boromir's privacy and peace-of-mind above our safety, last night, my Lady. It was...a miscalculation." 

"And one that you may well make again, under different circumstances. Certainly one you've made before, in one iteration or another. Next time, tell me, if there is no one better. Or leave me a note." Arwen pulled out a message case, similar to those her ladies used. 

Faramir accepted it, too bewildered and polite not to. "My Lady, Arwen...it would not...I would not want to trouble you..." 

"It is worth the trouble, Faramir." She told him sternly. "You will do what you will - you are too accustomed to doing so, to do otherwise. And when it comes to going to a hazardous quarry or...spying in Harad, yes, I would have to tell Aragorn." Arwen's full lips curved into a knowing smile, "But when it comes to lesser things...like arranging a relocation for soldiers with newly acquired pacifist tendencies, or helping your friends avoid their parents long enough to marry...well, I see no reason to tell anyone of that. So long as you are not alone while you go about that, and someone knows where you are." 

Faramir put his book away, giving Arwen his full attention. "How...?"

"You are not quite as inscrutable as you think you are, Faramir muin nin." She said fondly. "And men do not often listen to the chatter of maids and grooms and dowagers, but fitting little pieces together, a good listener can gather most of a picture." 

As Faramir considered that ruefully, Arwen continued, "I know that at least two of Aragorn's guards are willing to lie for you, in respect of where you might be at any given time. And I know that Dev would, without much of a thought." 

"Perhaps not so much now, or at least not in respect of matters to do with the Haradrim." Faramir murmured. 

"If push came to shove, he would do what you asked. Because you would not ask, unless you felt it was vitally important." Arwen said gently. She reached over to tap the message case, and reiterated, "Leave me a note, Faramir. I promise not to ask for details, unless you are later returning than you had expected. If you're not even willing to leave me a note, then leave one in a designated place in your chamber. I promise not to invade your privacy unless we are truly in fear of your safety." 

Faramir chuckled. "You and Lord Aragorn seem to fear for my safety more than I would ever expect, my Lady. Even when it is not necessary." 

"Like it was not last night?" She asked, delicately arching one eyebrow. 

"A fair point." Faramir conceded, blushing. 

"Have we an agreement, then?" 

Faramir considered that. "In exchange for your continued confidence regarding those other matters?" 

"And my promise of future aid, to the extent that it is reasonable. And beyond even the strict letter of the laws, so long as it is reasonable." 

Faramir extended his hand, and Arwen shook it, sealing their bargain. 'Arwen Indomitable,' Faramir thought to himself. The Queen on the chess board, who could move in any direction. A piece on the board which in truth obeyed no rules, save that it could move only during its own turn. Priest, castle, knight, pawn...a Queen could act as any of them. A King's movements were restrained to one square at a time, but the Queen could move as far as the board had space, or as far as she needed to, in order to accomplish her goals. 

"What are the two of you plotting?" Aragorn asked cheerfully. The King was fully dressed, but still rubbing his damp hair with a towel. 

Arwen smiled at him. "Nothing that you need worry about, my love." 

"I always worry when you say that." Aragorn commented, dropping the towel over a settee. "But in the interest of not being late for dinner, I'll let it be. Just..." Aragorn winced, "Don't surprise me with another funding request during open council, hmm?" 

"To be fair, it WAS in the briefing." Faramir said, half-apologetic and half-offended. 

"The very long briefing." Aragorn complained with a teasing smile, as he offered his wife his arm to escort her from their apartments to the dining room of the King's House. 

"Well, at least you got through more than the first three pages. 'Tis more than can be said for my dear brother." Faramir teased back, offering Arwen his own arm with a flourish. 

Arwen took Faramir's arm with a fond smile, and was escorted to the dining room in grand style by the King of Gondor and his heir presumptive. 

Boromir greeted Faramir with a roaring endearment and a slap on the back that could have felled a tree. Faramir laughed to see his brother in such high spirits. The dinner which followed was convivial, even gregarious. Faramir and Boromir had to endure a bit of teasing, but not too much, and the conversation and friendly sallies between Boromir and Legolas, and Legolas and Gimli, and between the twins and Aragorn, were enough to distract Faramir almost completely from his lingering discomfort. 

Throughout the dinner and the lively gathering which followed, Boromir and Faramir frequently gravitated back to one another's sides. Faramir was still in harmony with his brother, always sure of his welcome when he stood by his brother. Many men and women of Gondor had wondered, after the truth came out - that Denethor was not Faramir's father, that Finduilas had been unfaithful to her Lord with the future King - whether Faramir and Boromir would remain friends, and allies,and brothers. 

It was not to say that those revelations had been difficult for the brothers. They had both struggled, with the undermining of their knowledge of their parents, and the biological bonds between them. But the other bonds, the bonds of heart and mind which had been forged between them during their childhood in this place, the bonds which had been strengthened by Boromir's kindness and Faramir's faith, those bonds held strong. Neither brother had ever had cause to doubt them, and Faramir was confident that neither ever would. He would always be glad for his brother. That Faramir now had more to be glad for, would never change that.

After a lifetime with his only real family resident in the city being his brother, it seemed to Faramir that he had rather come into an embarrassment of riches. Seeing Aragorn laughing with Boromir, and Arwen rocking Baranor so that Nessanie could read with Tavan, Faramir felt very lucky indeed. 

Seeing Boromir not so subtly glancing back at Faramir while he talked to Aragorn, now that was somewhat more annoying. Faramir fixed his interfering brother with a narrow look. 

Boromir nearly laughed back at him. Faramir could almost see him mouthing "Turnabout is fair play, baby brother." 

And the worst part was, Faramir could not really argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Encouraging reviews always welcomed, if you are so inclined.

**Author's Note:**

> * For more background on this, see "A Conversation about Fathers," which is still posted in my main AU, as the second story, although it is AU to the main AU and probably ought to be moved to that series. However, I think that it does the best job of explaining the background of how Faramir came to be Aragorn's son. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please do feel free to let me know if you liked the chapter, if you are so inclined!


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